


Consent

by Romanumeternal



Series: Olia and Quintus [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Consent Issues, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanumeternal/pseuds/Romanumeternal
Summary: Olia, bored and wanting a bit of fun, says perhaps the wrong thing to her owner. In fact, she reminds him that he owns her, that she's just property, and that really he can do anything to her.Her owner, being a good sort, is horrified at this.(There's nothing explicit here - but there is discussion of some rather dark themes)
Series: Olia and Quintus [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115457
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Consent

I stifled a yawn as I put down my pen, glancing at the clock and then wincing as I saw the time. Briefly, I looked over the five sheets of paper, before deciding that, actually, I was far beyond the stage of being able to usefully do any editing - even understanding what I'd written was a task I was not entirely sure I could undertake. 

Still, I was relatively proud of it. History - at least, Roman History (which is, of course, to the average Roman the only sort of History worth knowing) has never been something I've been particularly interested in, but I reckoned I'd had a decent stab at explaining why, in the end, the High Senatorialists had prevailed over the Levellers, Ultras, Gracchi-Catalinites and Imperialists during the Revolution. 

Truth be told, the thought amused me. Both free citizens and a few slaves were in the class I attended. Most of us latter unfortunates had to fit our studies around our other duties - our owners might, on the whole, see the benefit of us receiving an education, but had no intention of letting us dedicate ourselves entirely to it. Yet generally, it was us slaves who ended up producing the highest quality work. If I was feeling somewhat subversive, I might point out that that one fact does, perhaps, undermine a number of comforting Roman myths about the whole system. Or, if one is of an even more cynical deposition, the sheer motivation that slaves will always have compared to the free. Even the most lazy and stupid Roman child, born to the strictest and most demanding parents, can at least count on their life being one of enough food, some shelter, and little violence, no matter how poorly they perform. Whilst us slaves, should we fail to make the grade...well, there's no telling how low we can fall.

"Tired, Olly?"

I turned around. Quintus was idly sketching on his notepad; already covered with strange symbols, numbers and letters. He had, he said, been set a problem by his tutor at the Alexandrian Symposia - whom at this stage I think he considered more an elder friend than a tutor per se - although his explanation on what the problem actually was could have been clearer. (It started by him saying something about 'frequency domain behaviour' and 'cyclostationary processes' and ended with him trying to illustrate the whole concept with three coins and a pen). 

I looked at him, fondly. Those keen blue eyes, that slightly crooked grin, that short crop of blonde hair that nonetheless somehow managed to be usually hopelessly disordered - and, most of all, that question. How many slaveowners would ask that - and in that tone, too? Not in an irritated, sarcastic snap, or a barked question, but with concern? Honest, pure concern, that someone they liked - well, almost certainly more than merely liked - was tired. 

"Revolutionary History, dominus" I replied. "I lose track of who's executing who at any one point."

Quintus smiled, wryly. "A good rule of thumb is to assume anyone involved ends up with their head on a spike." He paused, frowning. "Save for Gaius, of course. He ended up boiled alive when the Third Pretender caught him."

I winced. "Poor man. I always liked him." He was, of course, hopelessly naive and idealistic, and he paid for it. But stupid as you might think hs views on slavery, women's suffrage and religion were, I'm damn sure he didn't deserve to end up boiled by some pyschotic, inbred Volkish-backed warlord?

Quintus shrugged. "Well, if its any consolation, his own men sliced him apart a year later. Ran out of food. His daughter, apparently, ended up in the harem of one of the minor Khans." He smirked. "Apparently, right up until Hallarticus, there was a faction of Imperialists who were trying to put her descendants on the throne."

"I did not know that, dominus."

He shrugged - but I could see his smile. Perhaps because of his disabilities, he is a man who enjoys showing off his knowledge, even if the audience is one slave. Although, to give him his credit and unlike many other such men, he enjoys listening to the learning of others as well.

"There was quite a good old film about it. The Khan who would be Emperor, or something. I'll see if I can dig out a copy, we can watch it in a few nights"

I laughed, outright. "You do spoil me, dominus." I raised one eyebrow.

"Well" said Quintus, looking a little bashful, "I think you'd like it. Stars Aurelian, y'know. That actor?"

I laughed, and brushed some hair out of my eyes. If I am honest, I might have been tired - but the urge for sleep wasn't the only urge I wanted satisfied. It had been more than a month since I'd last lain with Quintus and, without being too explicit, sleeping in a shared room with Lukaminka meant that other ways of relieving those urges were, let's just say, logistically harder to organise. (Of course, her presence there did itself mean there was a third option, which I rather think she'd have been open too if I'd suggested it, but there's a limit on how complex I want my life to become).

"There are easier ways to get your favourite slavegirl into bed though, dominus." I chuckled. "I think its one of the advantages, really."

Quintus sniffed, and his voice dropped a few degrees, his face - admittedly, usually stern, as befits a true Roman, but with a twinkle in his eye and an upturned, ironic quirk to his mouth - going carefully blank.

"Please don't say that sort of thing, Olly."

I cocked my head, and smiled.

"What thing?" I said, glancing towards the bed. "It's been a while, dominus. Just give me a few moments and I'll happily please y."  
you".

"Well..." started Quintus, and then stopped, frowning. I looked at him, at his look of - what? Puzzlement? Worry? Concern?

"Well what, dominus?" I paused, and then smiled, concealing my slight disappointment. "Dominus, if you're not the mood, that's more than alright. Are you feeling well?"

"I'm feeling fine" said Quintus, a touch snappily - as ever, curt and brief and secretive on the subject of his health. I stood up, walking around to him, looking him over, carefully. He's always evasive about his health, curiously unwilling to talk about the host of minor ailments, aches and pains that afflict him most days. Some days, though, I can spot what's troubling him, and make him a bit more comfortable.

I sighed, kneeling before him, my hand on his knee. I paused, wondering how to phrase this without even slightly questioning his virility, his manhood.

"Dominus, honestly, if you're feeling ill, I'm happy to ask the kitchens to-"

"I'm fine, Olia" he said, looking - well, not at me. Slightly past me. I stroked down his leg.

"Well, something is wrong, dominus. I mean, if you aren't in the mood, then I'm-"

He looked at me, looking now not so much confused as guilty, not so much concerned as regretful. He was chewing his lip, I noticed, a Callarius family trait when they're anxious or unsure. (And one, I've noticed, I've picked up, given I've spent so many years amongst them). 

"No, its not about being in the mood. It's more than that. Something you said, a moment ago." He was speaking thoughtfully, slowly, and I thought his intended audience was more himself than me. 

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, still unsure of what he was trying to say. Had I insulted him, questioned his manhood recently? I frowned, running through in my mind the last few minutes of conversation. I saw nothing particularly objectionable. Was he (Gods forbid) saying he didn't find me attractive? Then why did he sleep with me? And treat me more as a lover than a concubine? Why -

I raised one eyebrow expectantly, hoping my expression gave no indication as to my thoughts.

"It's not that you're not pretty, Olia" he said, perhaps realising what he'd just implied. "In fact, you're one of the most attractive women I know. It's just..." he stopped, sniffed, and then looked at me. "I'm making a bit of a mess of this, aren't I?"

"A bit, dominus" I said, ignoring the 'one of' phrasing. (One of the few things Quintus's bitch of a sister, Julia, and me actually agree on is that he can be hopeless at non-intellectual conversation with women).

"Well, I...I like you, Olia. Not just for the sex...although I like...but...I wouldn't like it if you didn't like it."

I shook my head, still baffled. 

"Sir, what are you talking about? You're never this emotional. Are you about to confess to a murder?"

He ignored my attempt at humour.

"Well...you're a slave, Olia."

I blinked, unsure of what to do with this statement. Yes, I was (No. 673 234 213 34-A, to be precise). But it had never bothered any of us in private before.

"And...sir, are you saying its beneath your dignity to sleep with a slave?" I said it slowly, slightly confused. Its a common enough conceit amongst Romen men, of course (not that that really stops them). But certainly you'd be hard pressed to find a Roman man who'd be particularly proud or pleased to have slept with one of us - after all, if you can't get a freeborn girl to accept your seed, it doesn't reflect well on you, does it? As it was once explained to me by Julia gleefully, sex with a slave is more or less like pleasuring oneself alone - certainly in the opinion of most Romans. 

But, conventional as he is, I'd never before suspected Quintus of holding such a view. I gulped, hoping he wasn't saying what I thought he was saying. That I was just a way to relieve himself, a poor substitute for a freeborn citizen.

But, in that case, why treat me so decently?

"Well...not that...so much as - you don't have a choice, do you?"

"What?"

"Olia, I'm the third son of a Senator and Aedile of the People's Republic of Rome. You're a slave. Slaves are expected to sleep with whomever they're commanded to, aren't they?"

I sniffed and shrugged. That's a fact of life for most of us - you'd be hard pressed to find a female slave who hasn't been fucked by someone she'd rather not, and I daresay most male slaves have similar stories. After all, we are, legally, Just tools that talk, tools to be used however our superiors want. 

"Yes, yes they are. It isn't much fun for some of us, sir. But-"

"If you sleep with a free woman - unless you're married to her, obviously - without her consent, its rape. Pure and simple. Right?" He asked, looking into my eyes. "And...Olia, I lo-" he paused, frowned, and corrected himself quickly. "I'm fond of you. As a companion, a confidante." He paused. "Don't get me wrong. I'm no abolitionist. I don't have a problem with citizens using their slaves however they want. But..." He paused, and stroked my hair. "You're different. I'm...I'm not sure I could live with myself, if I did that to you." He gulped, and for a moment I could almost see tears appearing in his eyes. "If I'd done that to you, before."

"Sir, your social critique is all very interesting, but you've never forced me. Never ordered me." I took one of his hands in mine, and squeezed it tightly. "Everything we did, we did together, and I enjoyed it all." I smiled, shaking my head, and thought about what had caused this uncharacteristic bout of introspection. "And I was just making a cheap joke there earlier, dominus. Not some barbed comment at all."

"You're still a slave." he insisted. "Lets face it, you wouldn't refuse me. We're just too different. Just because I wasn't threatening to beat you..."

"You think I'd fuck you just to curry favour" I said, flatly. Truth be told, I don't see anything wrong with that, especially for a girl in my position (Lukaminka would no doubt agree) but that's never why I went with Quintus. I won't deny I get some privileges from my position, but - and I will hold my head up high and look Pluto in the eye when my shade stands before Him- that wasn't the reason I was first attracted to him.

"Well, I mean" he said, beginning to stammer. "I guess what I'm saying it...I'm not sure if you...so, I guess a better way of..."

I opened my mouth, and just as I was about to truly yell at him, realised what he was really asking. I shook my head, for a moment almost incandescent with fury that he'd so misread the situation - and then flooded with gratitude, that he was a man who'd even bother to read the situation in the first place - indeed, even recognise there was something maybe there to read.

"You're an idiot, dominus."

"I-"

"No, sir, you are. You make Julia look like a genius. You're a moron, and missing a bloody obvious point." I leaned closer to him. "I love you, Quintus. I don't know what conspiracy theory you've cooked up, but I like being with you. And I know you like it. So what's the problem?" I cocked my head, towards the bed, almost aggressively. "I enjoy pleasing you and making you happy, dominus - but that's not the only reason I sleep with you. Do you honestly think you're so blind, or I'm such a good actor, that you wouldn't have noticed you'd been raping me every night?"

"I just think-"

"Well...you're overthinking it, dominus." I stopped, and then shook my head slowly, reflecting that I might be the only slavegirl in the entire People's Republic of Rome who has just chewed out her owner for not sleeping with her. "I'm a lucky girl" I muttered, more to myself than Quintus.

"What?" said Quintus.

Rather than answering, I stood up, and in one fluid movement pulled my tunic off, carefully laying it on the floor nearby. I swiftly undid the clasp of my breast band next, before moving into kiss Quintus. I pressed my body against his, moving up and down his body slightly, my legs wrapping around his. 

"Dominus, words are air and lies." I ran my hands down his left arm. "Actions are all that matters."

And with that, I set about trying to convince him that, if anyone was deciding things here, it was me.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one, in all fairness, that isn't wholly original; its quite heavily adapted from a very old piece on my Livejournal. Hopefully I've become a better writer since.
> 
> But a relationship where one person owns the other is almost interesting in a grim sort of way - even (perhaps especially) when both are genuinely decent and genuinely intelligent, reasonable people who genuinely care about each other and genuinely consider each other equals - privately, at least. 
> 
> I'll add the usual disclaimer to this one: these are characters in a fascistic slaveocracy that has views very, very, very different to ours.


End file.
